


The Price

by neichan



Category: The Unit
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neichan/pseuds/neichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You do what you have to to get where you need to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price

The Price by neichan  
Chapter 1: complete

Disclaimer: Not mine these two characters...just the bunny, and the mysterious crew.

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He made it to the yacht with seconds to spare, but even so his nerves were singing, too late, too late, too late. Rupert was actually nearly on his heels, not so far behind. A big man leaned down and gave Bob his hand, then lifted, hoisting him like a bag of Cheetos up over the side. Arms hooked, hands locked at elbows. Bob Brown had had the same recovery maneuver drilled into him, he recognized it for what it was. Elite training.

Rupert, the grey haired, blatantly homosexual man who's boat it was, came dashing up behind him, and Bob watched the other man as he was lifted by a second boat-hand to land like a feather on the deck, cushioned by careful hands. Handled like valuable cargo. Precious glass. By men who couldn't possibly be his sons. Tall, bronze skinned, dark eyed. Mediterranean, not pale British.

Brown knew enough to recognize military training. These two men, he revised his thought when he looked around at a movement towards the front of the boat, the other very fit members of the crew were untying the boat from the dock, these however many men, had at one time been military. SAS or something like, maybe Special Forces. And while he didn't get the feel that they still were, they were in their late thirties and forties, the youngest probably at least a decade older than he was, his instinct was his only evidence that they weren't. They were still sharp, tough, and moved like a disciplined team. And every one of them had Bob in his sights.

Rupert was dusted off and shepherded down below deck, with Bob now the recipient of suspicious, intent eyes from many quarters. He was almost happy when Rupert snagged his arm and pulled him along, tucking a surprisingly strong arm around him. He was in no mood to get in a fight with a half a dozen trained men, adrenaline still jittering down his nerves like spikes of fire. 

The presence of the men whom Bob couldn't help but wonder at, especially in light of the young man, a man willing to make his living peddling his body, Rupert had intended to bring on board. What the hell was that about? It made no sense at all now.

He and Rupert were finally in the main cabin, seated, a drink, something amber and alcoholic, probably expensive from the richness of the aroma, in their hands and Rupert eying him shrewdly. Bob didn't miss the nod the older man gave the crewman who accompanied them. The crew man shut the door quietly, leaving the two of them alone. Though not until Bob had been treated to a non-verbal warning by cold brown eyes. Eyes filled with dire threats if Rupert should come to any harm. Message received he thought. Hurt the boss, Rupert apparently, and he was going to end up toast. Or shark food.

Everything had a price. This situation was no exception. He knew the price for this escape. Or thought that he did. This whole set up was making him wonder. He was back to the very strong impression that the men up on deck were military. And not effeminate, gay in the least, if you believed one had to mean the other. Which gave him pause when he looked over at the silver haired man enjoying his drink, to all appearances rather relaxed. And to all appearances very gay. Effeminate. Queer.

Bob, against his better judgment threw back the entirety of his drink at one go, a bad idea on an empty stomach. He needed it. He swore to himself it was the last of it. He would keep his wits about him, but he did want a little social lubricant. If he was going to have to bed the man, he wasn't going to lose control. Just enough to take the edge off.

It wasn't going to be a first time for him. His training saw to that. Spec Forces like the Rangers were practical. If a soldier was captured by the enemy, that enemy might do all kinds of things. Rape was only one more tool to use to break a soldier's will, whether the soldier was male or female, rape worked. Got him to talk, to bend, to fail. Therefore it had not been ignored. The possibility had been discussed, and training had taken place. 

Coming from the Army ranks as he had, where it was talked about, but that was all, Bob was shocked when the Ranger's training was hands on. Very hands on. Careful at first. Then rough. Stopping just short of injuring him and putting him out of commission or in the hospital. By men he never saw, would never recognize, masked and dressed, while he was naked, the only naked one in a ring of clothed, masked men. Once with three men doing the honors. That had been the roughest, the hardest to endure. Kim had asked him repeatedly that week what it was that was bothering him. He hadn't told her, guarding the bruises, keeping them from her, because this time they weren't the kind that could be explained by a fight. Couldn't. How do you tell your wife you'd just had three anonymous Rangers fuck you in the ass in the name of training? You couldn't. He'd ached, and kept it from her, turning away when she, warm, soft and sweet, wanted sex, the thought of it sharply repellent. 

Toward the end of the week he'd gone off, not on a mission, but with his team. They told him about what had happened to them. Frankly. Graphically. Listened to him. And to his shock, he ended up in a sleeping bag with Mack for the night, cradled in the bigger man's arms, hard muscle and comfort, not sex. Mack not afraid to touch him. His calloused hands stroking over every inch. Not sex. Better than. Protection. Acceptance. Healing. His team. Mack a brother in arms.

He'd slept well for the first time in days that night, his cheek resting on Mack's bare chest, the scratchy, silky chest hair against his face urgently welcome. Not what he was used to. Not what turned him on, but welcome, more welcome in that time than Kim's arms, Kim's wetness, Kim's love. For this he had needed Mack, not a woman. Mack who could keep him safe from the memory. When his own bewildered wife could not.

But now, when he had the need to know what to expect, he was prepared. He was grateful for what had been done to him in the past. He shared a glance with the other man who was savoring his drink, swirling the liquid with far more appreciation than Bob had shown, watching him.

As Bob's deep blue eyes met his, the man caught his breath, his faded old-blue gaze sharpened. Unable not to look over his prize. Bob kept his own gaze steady, direct. He did not flirt, did not offer himself like a whore, but he also didn't back down. If he did...the men upstairs could dump him overboard. He had no illusions of his training being superior to theirs. Given their numbers, it wasn't important. He had to stay on the boat until he reached a safe port. He couldn't take the boat over, he couldn't intimidate Rupert and his crew. He could bargain a little maybe, but he knew he was going to have to offer something in payment unless he was very lucky. And Bob Brown had had it drummed into him, luck was made, not found. He never counted on it. He made his own. You did what you had to, to get where you needed to go.

Bob sat there in the cushioned chair, it was damn comfortable, allowing himself a few minutes relaxation, letting the perusal continue, while his whole body screamed for food and for sleep. He sat quietly, but ready as he could be for what ever would happen.

"Would you like a cuppa? Tea? Coffee?" Rupert asked, his voice quiet and far more pleasant than it had been in the decrepit neighborhood bar. He was different now, somehow more confident, more assured. His face openly curious, and strangely patient. His china blue eyes not missing a thing.

"Sure, why not?" Bob said. So it wasn't going to happen fast. He was going to have to wait it out. Rupert's decision. And part of him was glad. He had time. That meant better things for the possibility of negotiation. He just had to be patient. To suppress that part of him that wanted to get it over with, make his payment and have it done, a sure thing.

"You aren't a prostitute." Rupert stated. He sipped, his skin suffused with warmth. Confidence. Awareness. Not your average old queen, Brown guessed. Another tidbit to file away in case it could be used to his benefit later.

"No I am not." Bob admitted. "I am an American." He said as if one negated the other. Rupert smiled wryly at that, as if it made no sense to him at all, getting to his feet easily, so not as out of shape as he had appeared on shore, and poured them both coffee. He raised his brows holding a spoon over a dish of sugar, lifting a pot of cream questioningly. Bob thought what the hell, and nodded to both. Rupert placed the cup and saucer on the small table between their two chairs. Bob took it up at once.

"What a thrill. All those lights and sirens. You must be a terribly bad man. What? A killer? A thief? Did you rob a bank? A vault? Steal some jewels? Or just rob a few too many tourists? It couldn't be just that one little girl-child who you stole from. Not and cause this much excitement." Rupert poured a bit more of the amber liquid into his own coffee and stoppered the carafe when Bob shook his head. Bob drank the sweet, creamy coffee all in a few gulps. Rupert laughed. 

"No, no. If you want to bolt it down...then water first. I am sorry, you must be dehydrated. And starved I'll wager." Then when Bob cast an evaluating look his way. "I too was young once, served my country in the trenches. Survival courses and all. Then the real thing. Here." Rupert moved to a small refrigerator built in under a counter, offered a large bottled water he took out. Cool condensation rolled down it's sides. Bob felt his mouth go dry, parched as the desert. He wanted that bottle's contents. He wanted it with a powerful longing. Rupert gave it to him.

Bob cracked the seal and drank. Rivulets of water gushed down the front of his T-shirt, cold splashing down his body, he felt absently, his nipples peaking against the soaked fabric. He almost groaned with relief, it felt good down his throat sinking into his dry tissues, and against his skin. Soaking the material, and pasting the soft, soiled cloth to his chest and belly.

When he finished he looked over with a half grin. Rupert was watching him with amusement and not a little heat in his lighter blue gaze.

"Oh my. Food, too, then." He pressed a button on the arm of his chair. Instantly the door to the cabin opened. Less than a second. The man must have had his hand on the knob. Rupert asked for a sandwich, roast beef, chips, some salt on them, to treat the dehydration. The man left, this time the door was not fully closed. Bob saw a second man leaving, while the first stayed there, in the corridor, where he could be seen. The brown eyes were no warmer than before as the door shut.

The food was heavenly. Thick slices of tender beef on soft bread, with butter, not mayonnaise, tomato, lettuce. The chips were not the potato chips he'd expected, but wedges of crisply fried potato, sprinkled with salt and vinegar. Delicious. He ate every scrap, forcing himself to chew thoroughly instead of gulping. Finishing with the sliced and cored apple that was provided, probably as a garnish. But he knew better than to waste food when he wasn't sure of his situation. Rupert watched him eat with apparent pleasure. Seeming fascinated by every swallow. His gaze moving over and over to the column of Bob's throat. Or to his mouth, as he licked his lips between bites. Yep, Bob was sure he knew there would be a price. And pretty sure what it was.

"I really need a shower." Bob said abruptly breaking the tension that was growing as he finished the last slice of fruit. "May I?" This room held no shower, but Rupert nodded. Stood and walked towards the far door. The man in the corridor re-entered the room and followed. So. He wasn't going to be left alone with Rupert, not even to shower.

"Certainly. This way." Rupert held the door open and Bob went in behind the older man. Into a reasonably luxurious stateroom for the size of the vessel. With a bathroom attached. At Rupert's nod, he headed for it, the crewman stopped inside the room and took up his stance. Brown, dispassionate eyes, fixed on him like a cat contemplating a very fat, succulent mouse. Bob shrugged mentally. He was used to undressing in front of other men. It didn't bother him if this one wanted to watch.

"Lissen. I don't want to let you fuck me just for a ride out of here. I am married and even safe sex isn't always safe. But, anything else I am game for. I know I owe you big for getting me out of there when you did. I don't mind if you watch me shower. The rest, when I am done, can we at least talk about it? I won't refuse you. Fair is fair." He said bluntly, turning to face Rupert, his hand framing his denim covered genitals, letting the man see what he had to offer.

Rupert's eyes took on the look of a snake watching a mouse. "Negotiations?" He smiled, the warmth not quite reaching his eyes. "You certainly are more than just any old American, aren't you? So resourceful. Go shower. I'll watch as you have invited me." He never mentioned or looked at the guard who would also be watching. "When you are all lovely and clean, you'll tell me what you are, and what it is you've done, and then, I'll decided if we will negotiate."

"Fine. Watch me." He drew his T-shirt up over his head. Baring his chest and torso. Rupert's eyes grew warmer, hot. He smiled wider. "Yes. Such a lovely young man. Soap is in the blue pump dispenser, shampoo in the red one. I do love the scent of coconut. Hope you don't mind."

Bob Brown didn't mind at all. He dumped the rest of his clothing in a more or less tidy heap and stepped into the glass walled shower. The water was hot, the pressure better than he expected. He came close to groaning as it pounded down on his sore body. He soaped up not once but twice. Three times if you counted the suds running down from his short bristle of hair as he shampooed.

The towels were every bit as fantastic as the shower had been. Fluffy, white, and huge. He dried off and managed to hide his surprise when Rupert, his eyes gone sharp with heat, handed him a towel-ling robe. He knotted it around his waist, not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

The bed dominated the room. He hadn't paid it much attention before. Now he looked at it. Big enough for two grown men and a skinny third if he held his breath. He hoped like hell he was wrong about that. But it was worth thinking about. In case it happened that way he'd be ready. He moved to the bed and sat as Rupert waved him that way. 

The velvet cover was warm under his palms. He rubbed at it unconsciously. He heard a chuckle, looked up.

"Would you fancy a kip?" Rupert asked him. And Bob translated that to mean a nap. He nodded. 

"If you don't mind." He wanted to be sharp when they spoke, or did anything else. Though why Rupert seemed to be putting it off over and over, he couldn't guess. He might be missing something here. Something important. Maybe sleep would help. He hadn't slept in more than a day. He wasn't at his best, feeling the exhaustion that had been held at bay by the adrenaline rush of danger increase. He could remain alert and in fight or flight only for so long. The rush of stress hormones was fading away. He needed down time soon.

"Of course. I want you well rested, my boy. As long as you don't object to one stipulation, you may sleep as long as you wish."

"What would that stipulation be?"

Rupert held up his hand. Sliver gleamed. Cuffs. The insides padded. They wouldn't hurt. Brown thought over his choices. Say no and not get the rest he needed. Say yes and be restrained. Christ. Not the choices he wanted to have. He needed sleep. But it was never good to voluntarily let anyone restrain you. It was in fact very bad. He measured the man in the doorway. Times six he told himself. That limited his options. He could voluntarily be cuffed, or forcibly. Forcibly meant injury, an eroding of fragile trust. That would make things even worse. He held out his wrists. 

"Undressed and under the sheets." Rupert told him. "Let's get you all snug." Bob obeyed. "Turn away, right arm out at ninety degrees." The older man's instructions were businesslike. Bob obeyed, definitely not happy to be face down, not able to see behind him. The mattress dipped, he felt a cuff close around his wrist. He waited for another instruction, the one that would have him offering his second wrist to be locked in the ring of tempered steel. He hoped it would not be cuffed behind him. Sleeping like that, both hands behind his back was hard. Though having a hand cuffed to the bed, over his head would hurt, too, after a while. 

He heard a second snick. He turned his head, caught by surprise. He wasn't cuffed to the bed. He was cuffed to a second set of handcuffs, one loop of which was around the wrist of the guard. Who was stripped down to his boxers. And climbing under the covers with him. Another man had replaced him at the door. Impassive eyes fixed on Bob. 

"OK." Bob said. Not good he was thinking. Rupert...he somehow trusted the man. Not so these two.

"Fine." Rupert said. Then he reached out and patted Bob's crew cut. "Go to sleep, boyo. My word you will be safe. Until you wake." Absurdly Bob felt like a small child, the motion so reminiscent of his father's habit of patting him on the head years ago, when he was a child. And far more innocent than he was now. Before he had killed for his country. Before he had lied, left out truths, and cheated on his wife. Just to be able to cope. Despite his wariness, he couldn't completely eliminate the feeling that was awakened by the gentle hand that rested on top of his head even now. Fuck, not good. He couldn't believe he was Stockholm-ing this fast. He felt a grudging respect for the wily older man.

He closed his eyes. Hiding the information that was in them. He faced away from the man who was cuffed to him, but it wasn't possible to rest like than. Reluctantly he rolled onto his side, dragged a pillow between them, rested their cuffed hands on it. He slept then, because what choice did he really have?

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"Time to wake up." Rupert's voice was a tiny sound in the vast ocean of his drowsing mind. Bob woke instantly. He held still by sheer force of will, his instinct wanting to strike out as he recalled his circumstances. 

It was still dark outside, he saw through a porthole. So either he had slept all the day through or only a few hours. His bladder was voting for all the day. He grunted raising his knee when a hand touched his bare stomach.

"Gotta use the john." He muttered before the hand could slide down and put pressure on his very full bladder. 

"Ah." Rupert said, removing his hand with a small pat. "You know where it is."

And lo and behold Bob realized he wasn't cuffed. He was naked, that much hadn't changed. He headed straight for the facilities. Noting as he did, that there was a dark substance on his finger pads. Someone had tried to clean it off, but had given up before it was completely removed. He'd been fingerprinted. He washed his hands and tried to think.

"Use the tooth brush and powder." Rupert called. Ah. So the time was on him. Bob brushed his teeth. Rinsed his mouth with water from a nearly empty bottle. "The tap water OK to drink?" He called out. He was thirsty, and what was in the bottle wouldn't be enough. 

"Best not. I've got a bottle out here for you." Rupert called back. "Now, don't let us waste any more time, young man."

Bob returned to the room and to the bed. He drank from the battle of water. They were alone in the room. Rupert sitting with his back propped against the wooden headboard.

"Bob Brown." Rupert said. "American soldier. Special Forces. An Army Ranger no less. Wanted for assassination. Murder. And such a fine looking boy like you." Rupert was wearing a burgundy robe, not the white towel-ling one Bob had used so briefly the night before. "You don't disappoint, do you?" He asked rhetorically.

"No, sir." Bob replied, "I don't." Where that came from he couldn't rightly say. But it was important to him that Rupert think well of him. Though why it should matter...it made no sense at all. Rupert looked at him, and the look was both fatherly...and not. 

"I know what I need to about you. And you know what you need to about me."

"I don't know anything." Bob said. "Except your name is Rupert."

"Precisely. My name is Rupert." He smiled again, his kindly predator's smile. Bob was beginning to get used to it. It was familiar in a strange way. "And..you have seen my boat. My people. That is all the information you will have. We are headed into port in less than five hours. Our business will be finished by then. And depending how it goes..." He left the rest unsaid. Left the rest for Bob to figure out.

If Rupert was happy with the way the business carried out, then he wouldn't make a fuss with the authorities. If he wasn't happy...Bob would end up in custody once again. He couldn't afford that.

"What do you want?" He asked in a tone that was gentler, softer than he felt. "From me?"

Rupert smiled again. Then he patted the velvet comforter between them. "Come here, lad." Bob did. Rupert's hand moved to his forehead and into his short, bristly hair, stroking. Bob lay perfectly still, waiting. 

"Such a lovely boy. And such a lovely mouth." Rupert said.

"Is that what you want?" Bob asked pointedly, licking his full lips.

"What I want is for you to show me how you pleasure yourself." Rupert said in a voice an octave lower than it had been, and syrupy dark. It held a tone of order, of control Bob was familiar with from the drill seargents of boot camp, all the way up to his current commanders. He was suddenly all the way hard. And freaked. Oh shit.

His hand wasn't questioning the whys and wherefores of his confusion, his reaction. It was wrapped around his dick that fast. Moving, squeezing. He let out a sound, small and hot. Needy.

"Yes. Such a good boy." Rupert told him, still ruffling the short spikes of his hair, sending shivers all over Bob's body. He raked gentle nails up the back of his neck, and goose-flesh broke out as the sensation raced down Bob's spine.

"Yes, stroke yourself. Just as you like it." Rupert encouraged. Bob groaned, lifting his knees and spreading his legs, arching so the small of his back was pressing into the mattress and his hips were canting upwards, his dick nearly touching his navel. "Such a lovely boy."

Fingers touched his left nipple twisting it, sweet and sharp, then soothed it, drawing it up into a peak as his other one tightened in sympathetic jealousy. He cried out, hand moving faster up and down his boiling flesh, a spurt of precome wetting his wrist.

"Good boy." Rupert said, his voice calm and thickened with some emotion, lust perhaps. Bob rocked his head back and forth, restless. Fuck he was hard. On the edge. Rupert's hand cupped his cheek and Bob turned his face into the palm. Licked it. Let his teeth mark the skin but not break it. Mouthing the man's hand, wanting something in his mouth. Not thinking about it too hard. Not wanting to realize what he wanted sliding down his throat. 

Rupert gave him his fingers. Bob sucked on them, drawing them into his mouth, and suckling. Oh, shit. His hips stuttered. His hand pumped, his tongue coated the fingers with spit.

"Is that what you want, little soldier? Is that what you want me to do? Do you want to have my prick in your mouth?" Dark and sexy, sinister the voice wove it's web. "You Americans with your absurd Don't ask, Don't tell.... This is what you want?" 

Bob sucked harder, hungrily. His whole body tight, urgent, throbbing.

"Or...do you want these for your lovely ass?" Rupert wriggled his fingers, his voice lower, quieter, more seductive. Safe and hot. As if those two would ever go together in Bob's right mind. Rupert and hot were mutually exclusive, Bob told himself. He didn't go that way, especially not with an old fag...he told himself as his ass clenched down hard, as he absorbed the words, the fantasy they painted. He panted. Moaned around the fingers, spit dripping down his chin.

He brought his hand up, the one not beating his meat like a mad man. Groped at the burgundy robe, fumbled at the flap, found trousers not skin. Whimpered his disappointment. 

Bob turned over onto his hands and knees, grasping at the fly of Rupert's trousers, jerking the zipper down, the underpants...Rupert allowing him, patting his back, parting his thighs. Letting Bob find him, erect, very warm in his hand, and warmer, harder still in his mouth. As Bob sucked him in, awkward but with a will.

"Ah, yes. It is what you need, isn't it? Sex after such an exciting time. Reaffirming life, lust. Suck it carefully, my boy. Gently. Show it how much you love it in your mouth, down your throat. Good boy." Bob groaned to hear those quiet words, felt them like tiny explosions hitting that part of his brain that was running his actions just now. That part of him that was making him need this man's cock in his mouth, bumping the back of his throat. He sucked as he moaned, his fist finding his own hard on by now, jerking himself as he knelt between the older man's spread legs.

He cried out as he came, almost a plaintive howl, seed gushing over his hand as he pumped. His cry vibrating around the prick in him mouth, his gasping breath chilling and heating it alternately. He sucked, panted, sucked. Panted. And didn't protest when the prick, still hard was taken out of his mouth. For the best, he thought, collapsing. I might bite him. He gave the hard flesh a parting lick before falling to the side, his face pushing into the crumpled lining of Rupert's open robe.

Rupert was back to murmuring soothingly, petting his head, and the short brush of his hair. Bob muttered, close to happily, his mind whirling, his body singing, his hand sticky, his cock satisfied.

"There, there, boy. Rest. That was simply beautiful. I couldn't be more pleased."

"But..." Bob swallowed, cleared his throat as best he could, feeling a tiny ache in the hinge of his jaw from this unaccustomed activity. "You didn't come."

"That is all right. It was for you, my dear. It was what you needed." Rupert soothed. 

Bob blinked, the lethargy of his orgasm wearing off at that. "What?!" He exclaimed. He was rewarded with the outer door opening and another of the guards stepping inside. His jaw spasmed. "What do you mean it was for me? I didn't want that, it was for you, to pay you..."

"No, no." Rupert shook his head, his hand caressing Bob's bristly scalp. "Not for me at all. You seemed to expect it. I am not in the least reluctant to help out a fellow soldier in a time of need. But you needed it. Hush." He put a finger over Bob's swollen lips, to stop the protest from being spoken. "And you deserved it for knocking out my informant. It has taken me months to set him up as a convincing prostitute so he can pass on information to me or to my crew when we are in that port. Give him a way to explain how he comes by all the cash I pay him for that information. Now I won't be able to use him again. All your fault I am afraid."

Bob gaped at the other man. "You let me..." He began, unbelieving. 

Rupert nodded. "Precisely. I let you take what you needed. Let it go at that." He ran his hand over Bob's head and down his neck, kneading the supple flesh and muscle in a way that was almost meltingly good. Bob felt his resistance fade along with his outrage.

Stunned Bob let his cheek fall back down to rest on the older man's thigh. Rupert's voice murmured to him, low and comforting. "Rest, dear boy. There is plenty of time before we set you down safely. Don't worry, don't think. It was something you needed. Let it go at that."

ne'ichan

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.


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